Bobby was the kind of boy who slept with the windows open, come hail or ice or snow. On holidays abroad he slept in the wine cellar. His parents took him to see doctors but they could find no fever; he just functioned better in the cold. When he was a teenager he worried about global warming but in Scotland that only seemed to mean more rain and snow. His family and friends thought he would become an Arctic explorer or an ice cream seller; some even had a sweepstake on the job he – or his temperature – would choose. But in the end the universe showed it had a sense of humour. From the day he picked up his first guitar, it was clear – he would be in a band, the coolest band in town.
Leaving the bus
The miniature angel climbed up the inside of the bus window. I opened it, careful not to crush her. With a flash of her wand and a buzz of her wings, she spiralled out into the hot damp air.
Coffee
Coffee was never
my cup
Wait for the brown spots
It works out cheaper to wait for the brown spots to appear on bananas by themselves than to paint them on one by one. Same with giraffes.
From force of habit
Even on a sunny day, from force of habit
I stand in the bus shelter,
safe below its roof.
I could say it’s just like
holding on to your hand for too long
or sitting closer than is comfortable
for you.
But similar pale comparisons are easy enough
for you to make up for yourself
so I’ll just stand here quietly in the bus shelter,
looking out at the sun.
I wish you had left me in winter
I wish you had left me in winter
The sky could have rained tears of ice
The wind could have howled desperation
But here I am alone
looking up at blue skies
I feel the sun on my skin
and the heat in my bones
I wish you had left me in winter
Almost a smile
It is the almost a smile, the ghost of a smile, the was that a smile, that makes the badness so sweet.
Old dreams
I piled my old, dried-out dreams into the bottom of the bare wooden boat. With the strength in my shoulders I heaved it out towards the horizon and, almost casually, dropped in a match. The flames flickered higher as the boat flared into the night, dreams becoming stars, each for their moment.
Sticking plaster
He took the box of sticking plasters out of his jacket pocket. It was battered like a soft pack of European cigarettes. People in the bar noticed the movement then caught sight of his sadness and looked away.
He opened the box. He could not see clearly in the dim smoky light but, after this one he now held between his fingers, there could be only one, at most two, left in the packet.
He looked around without seeming to. He had nobody’s attention. He peeled off the backing paper and lay it next to his hat. Holding open a gap between buttons, he slid his hand inside his shirt and stuck the plaster down. He brushed his shirt closed and rubbed on his chest.
If any kind woman slowly unbuttoned his shirt, she would soon see his heart was held in one piece with lace and with sticking plaster.
Published on http://adhocfiction.com/read/ Issue 12 01 July 2015
Going to the Island
Come on son, time to get up – we’re going on holiday. Grandad will be waiting for us.
…
Do you want some breakfast?
…
Don’t bother having a wash, you can go in the sea when we get there. Just wash your face and get dressed. We’ll have to hurry to catch the ferry. Your brother’s up and your dad’s out at the car.
**********
Want to be sick.
…
I WANT TO BE SICK.
I can’t stop here, there’s a queue of traffic behind us.
Come on, there’s a good boy, we’re nearly at the layby, we can have a cup of tea there and you can be sick.
…
Go on, quick, jump out quick.
**********
Thank god for that.
I know. I’ll get the flask and the cups. Who wants something to eat?
…
He’s been sick again.
Again? Where is he?
He’s over there behind that hedge. His brother’s with him.
Why did you let him eat that hard-boiled egg?
He wanted something and that’s all he fancied.
**********
Which will bring us back to Doe, a deer, a female deer –
Christchurch near Bournemouth.
There’s no need for that, it’s keeping them quiet.
Ray, a drop of golden sun –
Ow! He hit me.
Didn’t!
Stop it both of you. Your father’s thinking about the road.
**********
We’re going to miss the ferry.
We’re not going to miss the ferry. We might even get the one before the one we’re booked on.
Will they let us on that one?
I don’t know. We can ask when we get there.
I’ll have to phone Dad to tell him we’re going to be early. We need to find a phone box.
Let’s wait and see, shall we?
…
I just said let’s wait and see.
Don’t drive so fast, there’s no rush.
**********
Need a wee.
Why didn’t you go before? Dad, dad, you’ll have to stop, he wants a wee.
Which one?
Which one do you think?
I can’t stop here, we’re in the middle of the town.
He can’t stop here darling, these are people’s gardens, you’ll have to wait.
Can’t wait.
He can’t wait.
Well, I’ll stop when I can.
You’ll have to stop soon, he really needs to go.
…
You’ll have to take him. Take him round the corner away from the car. Don’t let anyone see you.
**********
When are we going to get there? Will Grandad be there?
We’re nearly there, well, nearly. Yes, he’ll be waiting for us. And tomorrow you can go fishing with him.
**********
There’s the queue. There, over there, there’s the queue.
Yes, I can see it. Have you got the tickets and the stickers for the windscreen?
Me?
Yes, I put them on the table when you were making their breakfast.
In my bag?
…
Where on the table did you put them?
On the table….
**********
How are you feeling now? Can you see the island? Let’s see who’ll be the first one to see Grandad.
…
Where’s your brother now? Stay here while I go and find him. And if you see your father tell him to stay here. We’re getting off soon.
**********
Grandad!
Grandad!
Well, who are these two tall boys? Do I know you? Come here while I say hello. Hello love, hello son. You drive round and I’ll nip round on my bike. The back door’s open.
Hello dad.
First published on http://scottishbooktrust.com/writing/journeys/story/going-to-the-island 29 June 2015
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